Code 69
by fbeauchamphartz
Summary: Kurt wears some deliciously tight pants to a Vogue party, and Sebastian, standing behind a potted plant, drooling over his boyfriend's ass, needs to find a way to tell him that they have to find a secluded spot to f**k…now! Kurtbastian. Kurt H. Sebastian S.


**A/N:** **Inspired by a gif that I think Edy made and I can't seem to find (all my links to it go nowhere) so if anyone has a working link, please forward it to me so I can give credit where credit is due ;)**

It's the pants that do it.

Those skin tight pants Kurt decided to wear tonight.

Sebastian can usually ignore his urges, put aside his fantasies and play nice with the straights until they get home, but those pants - they're his kryptonite. A secret weapon Kurt created to turn him on, seduce him without words, stoke the fires of every dirty dream he's ever had of worshipping Kurt's ass – deep kissing his beautiful, dusty rose asshole; fingering him so deep his toes cramp from curling; fucking him up against a wall with his legs wrapped around Sebastian's waist, holding on tight while Sebastian takes his time, reminding Kurt through rough strokes and soft kisses how smoking hot he is.

And the kicker, the bear trap around the balls that makes Sebastian insufferably hard, is that Kurt doesn't even seem to realize he's doing it. If he was intentionally teasing Sebastian, wearing _fuck me_ pants and wiggling his ass at inopportune moments to see Sebastian tent his Armani dress slacks, Sebastian might see it as a challenge and be able to deflect him. But Kurt, working the room, talking to journalists and posing for photogs, laughing over private jokes with other designers and a few influential buyers, doesn't seem to have a clue how much Sebastian is suffering, how tightly he's closed his jacket in front of his crotch, how desperately he's clinging to his flute of champagne as if it's the single last unwinding thread of his sanity. He's finally forced to hide behind a planter to obscure his erection when Kurt drops his pen and bends over thoughtlessly to retrieve it.

Kurt actually designed and made this particular pair of torture-inducing slacks, so they're tailored to him. They hug every one of his subtle curves perfectly, accentuates that gorgeous, taut, tomato ass that Sebastian's dying to take a bite out of.

Sebastian figures he can play the good boyfriend for once, travel from ficus to ficus when he needs to make his way across the room, endure in silence until the evening winds down to a close, and then beg his boyfriend to put him out of his misery.

He replaces his champagne flute security blanket with his iPhone and checks the time.

10:53.

These parties usually go till around two in the morning.

 _Jesus Christ, he's never going to make it._

He breathes in deep and blows it out, ignoring the way his dick bobs when he does, the poor guy assuming that some sort of action's going to start if Sebastian needs more oxygen. Sebastian figures if he just stands still, if he doesn't breathe, doesn't think, stares off into space with a not-too creepy but unengaging smile on his face, he should be fine. He'll survive. He will make it through.

Suddenly and unbeknownst to Sebastian, a band enters the room from out of nowhere, sets up on stage, and music starts. Kurt, never one to sit out on a Gloria Estefan cover band, joins the tipsy masses on the dance floor, letting the rhythm of a mock Miami Sound Machine claim another willing victim. Of course, being true to their lineage, the first song they play is _Conga_. There Kurt goes, shaking his luscious rump, and Sebastian almost drops to his knees.

 _Good God_ , Sebastian moans inside his head. _That thing has a mind of its own._

It moves separate from his body, and when Kurt thrusts his hips up, Sebastian knows that they have to leave… _now_.

Sebastian gauges the distance between his current potted plant and the next in his head, planning a route from pottery to table to cluster of drunk dancers, all the way to his boyfriend. When he has every inch of it mapped out, he makes a break for it, hoping that his current route takes him far enough away from Isabelle Wright's table to keep him from getting cornered by Kurt's shrewd boss.

She's a friendly enough woman, but she can also seem to sense an untimely boner a mile away.

There's a tense moment when Sebastian almost gets caught up in the throes of an impromptu Conga line, but he muscles his way through, taking hold of Kurt's arm and God, he's so hot from dancing and thrusting and shaking his ass that he's sweating through his Versace shirt, and he doesn't even seem to care.

"We have to go," Sebastian says, urgently pulling Kurt by the elbow.

"What? Why?" Kurt asks with a tiny pout, thrusting out a lip that's begging to be bitten. "We're having such a good time."

"It's…uh…an emergency," Sebastian says, looking around the room for anyplace closer – a bathroom, a coat room, maybe the kitchen? Okay, Kurt would never consent to sex in the kitchen…

"Oh," Kurt says, confused. He glances down at the phone in Sebastian's hand. "Did you get a call or something?"

Sebastian's eyes widen.

"A text, actual," Sebastian lies, thinking quickly, figuring he'll explain when they're away from the prying ears and eyes of admirers trying to coax Kurt back out on the dance floor. "And it's _uber_ important."

Kurt's brow wrinkles as he tries to understand.

"Our Uber driver sent you a text?" Kurt asks, having difficulty hearing Sebastian over a sudden surge of trumpets blaring.

"Uh…no…not exactly, I…" Sebastian looks left and right, leaning in to talk into Kurt's ear. "I'm having a personal issue right now, and I really need you to help me with it." Sebastian opens his jacket, revealing his covered crotch, and motions down to it with significant sweeps of his eyes, but in the dark between them, Kurt sees nothing amiss.

"Did you…rip your pants?" Kurt asks, shaking his head. "Do you need a needle and thread? Because I think that Chase…"

"Kurt!" Sebastian hisses, hoping to find a way to get him to understand without having to say it. Normally, Sebastian wouldn't care, but this is a party for Kurt's work. Kurt's up for a promotion. This job is very important to him, and Kurt is very important to Sebastian. Sebastian doesn't care about being crass because he doesn't care what anyone thinks of him.

Except for Kurt. He really cares about Kurt's opinion of him.

"Yes, Sebastian?"

"I'm having…" Sebastian does come up with one thing. It's lame, but he hopes it works – "a code 69 emergency."

"What?" Kurt says, a smile lifting his cheeks.

"Kurt!" Sebastian shifts on his feet, trying to readjust himself with grabbing his dick, the chafing of his head against the waistband of his underwear and his pants becoming intolerable. But Kurt mistakes what he's doing for dancing, and loops his arms over Sebastian's shoulders.

"Aw, Sebastian. If you wanted to dance with me, all you had to do was ask," Kurt purrs as the next song starts. The beat's still a bit racy, but Kurt can definitely sway in place with his boyfriend…and if he can grind up against him while he's at it, then all the better.

The first brush of Kurt's crotch against Sebastian's aching member makes Sebastian see stars.

He grabs Kurt's biceps and pushes him away, gritting his teeth. " _Kurt_ …"

"Sebastian…" Kurt giggles nervously at the look of strain on his boyfriend's face. "What's going on? You can tell me."

"Kurt, I'm _trying_ …"

"Sebastian?"

"Kurt…"

"Sebastian! Just spit it out!"

"Kurt!" Sebastian growls, forcing the words through his clenched jaw until he's almost yelling. "Your…urgh! Your ass looks hot in those pants, I have a raging boner, and we need to find a place to go fuck… _now_!"

Kurt's smile drops. His entire face drops. But, unfortunately for Sebastian, his erection doesn't drop. In fact, that perfect 'o' shape of Kurt's lips makes his throbbing hard-on that much harder.

Luckily for Sebastian, nothing major or earth shattering happens after his revelation. The music doesn't stop with his voice rising over the crowd to announce to all those gathered that he has a hankering to shove his dick into his boyfriend's ass. But a few people close by take a collective step away, giggling behind their hands, and Isabelle Wright appears out of nowhere, in a puff of smoke in Sebastian's opinion.

"Uh, sweetie. A moment, please," she says, taking Kurt and Sebastian by the arm and leading them toward the door of the ballroom.

 _Oh great!_ Sebastian thinks. _She's kicking us out. Kurt's boss is kicking us out, he's going to lose his job, and I'm never getting laid again. Better start liking the color blue, Smythe, because as of tonight, your dick is going to be that color till you die._

They stop right at the door, Kurt looking at Sebastian with pale, frantic worry, Sebastian looking back at Kurt with an apologetic frown, and Isabelle looking at both of them with bright, cunning eyes and a wide, toothy grin. She reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out something that looks like a credit card.

No, Sebastian realizes. Not a credit card. A _key_ card.

Thank fucking God, that's why Kurt calls her his fabulous fairy godmother!

" _Vogue_ has a suite in this hotel for that sort of thing, just so you know," she informs them. "All you need to do is tell me and you're free to use the room until someone else needs it."

"That's…good to know," Sebastian says, calmly sliding the key card from between Isabelle's matte black stiletto nails.

"Thanks?" Kurt says, mildly disturbed, stumbling over his feet as his overanxious boyfriend yanks him away.

"Oh, and guys – if you see any red blinking lights, just ignore them," Isabelle says, winking as Sebastian picks Kurt up over his shoulder caveman-style.

"Wha-Isabelle…" Kurt calls, but Sebastian yells, "Will do," and races out the door.


End file.
